by W.H. Harrod
The piercing whirl of a hand held grinder employed by his friend, Anthony, in his quest to remove every rough edge from a huge ball of twisted metal—another product of his yet unappreciated genius—forced Terrance to vacate his cot and seek the cool quiet of a loading dock located at the rear of the building along the railroad tracks. Anthony bended, welded, and grinded all forms of metal: big pieces, long pieces, and heavy pieces. Size and shape didn’t matter as he always managed to find a place for it on his creations. Terrance envied Anthony’s passion for his vocation. But after six hours of noise, his admiration had weakened by degrees.
Terrance tried hard to get some rest, but to no avail. Only a dead person could lie quietly while that racket went on. Consequently, Terrance looked haggard, not the image he hoped to present to Arête that evening. Already after 6 p.m., he couldn’t do much about the bags under his eyes in the next hour. Then another small matter occurred to him. He hadn’t showered, which meant he would have to utilize the same facilities as his host. The only way to describe the condition of Anthony’s bathroom necessitated using terms such as public urinal, men’s locker room, or dumpster area.
“Just suck it up and do it,” were his final words as he headed for the bathroom covered in nothing more than an extra-large towel and wearing his running shoes. He forgot to bring his shower shoes, and he wasn’t about to step into that fungus pit in only his bare feet.
After having finished the fastest shower and shave ever attempted by a young male, Terrance stood out on the back loading dock brushing his teeth and gargling mouthwash. No way did he intend to let something he regularly put into his mouth get close to that germ incubator.
Once back inside by the cot, he looked at his watch and realized he had to step on it. By his best estimate, even if he busted his rear, it took at least twenty minutes to travel to Arête’s suburban spread. He hurriedly finished dressing, choosing to wear one of his favorite outfits he’d picked out with Jess’s help a few months back. The light blue color dominated the background of his favorite long sleeve shirt and complimented his flawless, slightly tanned complexion and dirty blond hair. Jess often joked that she “only dated him for his looks because he didn’t have any money and could only barely ride a horse.”
“Put those thoughts out of your mind. You’ve got to do this,” he told himself.
On the street and rolling south in the van, he realized he hadn’t taken into account his unorthodox mode of transportation when estimating the travel time to Arête’s. Plus, as it got darker, he had a hard time seeing while wearing the dark sunglasses. He decided he had to give up the glasses, but still wear the hat, just in case the black SUV happened to be out on the street looking for him. He hadn’t forgotten about them or how spooked he’d gotten only the day before. These guys personified persistence. He knew that after twenty years they weren’t going to leave the area simply because he lost them on his wild race across rural America.
He needed to hurry. This lady wouldn’t abide tardiness in an employee, and that’s what he would be to her—an employee. No matter what else happened between them in private, she was the boss. Well, so be it, thought Terrance. If that’s what it takes to stay alive, to get a law degree, and to have a future as opposed to running from the cartel until I’m old and gray, I’ll do it. He mustn’t forget the perks either—the lady defined the word beautiful. Over the next few years, he stood to gain much from her teaching him about life, money, and society, along with important things not available to him elsewhere. This is the only sensible way to go. This is going to work, he reassured himself.
It looked as if he’d make it in time after all according to the 6:52 p.m. reading on his watch. The absence of daylight pleased him as it eliminated having to explain why he drove over in a rolling junk wagon.
The closer he got to the address, the more familiar the area became. He knew it well. A number of prominent people in the community chose to live in this part of town. The homes were built on three acres lots, with barns, long driveways, pools, guesthouses, and rows of white fencing, reminding him of the Bluegrass Region of Kentucky.
Following Arête’s instructions, Terrance eventually discovered he’d been directed via the long route to an area of the community he knew well. He could have gotten here a lot quicker if he’d only stopped and thought about the address location instead of blindly following directions. “Is that what this is going to be about from now on—following directions?” Terrance asked. Again he admonished himself for making a simple deal difficult. “What if it is like that? I’ll be well rewarded for my efforts.”
By now, the area he drove through looked increasingly familiar. He’d traversed this route many times before. Some of the most enjoyable moments of his young life were associated with traveling this same route. This must be an omen—to experience fond memories at a time like this as he prepared to set off on an entirely new adventure to places and experiences he’d never allowed himself to imagine before. Today marked the first day of a new life. A life of thinking differently, acting differently, and seeing the world differently awaited him. No more equivocating. The future appeared clear to him now; things were going to be all right. Somehow, someway, it would all work out for the best.
He refocused his attention in time to recognize his turn and pressed hard on the break pedal. The van’s barely functioning breaking system responded slowly, causing him to overshoot the driveway and making him back up. Fortunately, no cars followed close behind.
“What is it with people’s need for space,” he asked himself as a now much more at ease Terrance steered the van up the long driveway towards the house in the distance. “It seems like no one wants to have neighbors anymore.”
Terrance saw a light on the front porch. This pleased him, as he preferred not having to stumble towards the porch in the dark. Bringing the van to a stop some distance from the house, he turned off the clanking engine before it could disturb anyone. So far, no one appeared to be aware of his presence. He took one last look at his tired face in the rear-view mirror before he exited the van.
He approached the large front porch, looking to see if he could catch sight of anyone through one of the big front windows. Not a soul appeared. He felt a slight unsteadiness in his knees as he stepped onto the porch. “There is nothing to be afraid of,” he assured himself. “It’s going to be all right. This is the right thing to do.”
He took one last deep breath as he reached forward and knocked loudly on the wooden screen door. Instantly, a commotion began inside, followed by footsteps coming towards the door. The door opened and a beautiful lady stood in front of him, smiling. He was right. This is where he belonged.
“Hello, Jess,” he said.
Baaaaaaaaa-Wooooooooo! The charging beast wailed as he bolted through the open door past a misty-eyed Jess to get at his best and, too long, absent friend.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
